


build yourself a citadel (amid the foothills of regret)

by Ro29



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Batman: A Death in the Family, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce is sad, Canonical Character Death, Children growing up before they should, Children should not die before their parents, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grieving Bruce Wayne, Hey look it's our old friend Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Love, This story is canon adjacent, War Games (DCU), author is not as caught up on comics as they pretend to be, fuck you dc, lots of hugs, past character deaths are dealt with, we keep the canon we like and then give hugs instead of whatever the writers decided to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro29/pseuds/Ro29
Summary: Perhaps one universal truth is that Bruce Wayne is, and always will be, a father.(Fathers should not have to bury their children.)
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 30
Kudos: 265





	build yourself a citadel (amid the foothills of regret)

**Author's Note:**

> I got a lot of bat dad feels so take this mess.
> 
> Deals with Bruce being sad and processing his children's death and after they come back to him.
> 
> (There is a very _very_ blink and you'll miss it reference to the circumstances of Damian's Birth, Hi Grant Morrison. But it's not big, and Bruce is very much not focusing on that at the present moment, so it's never brought up again.)
> 
> Title from the song 'How to Rest' by The Crane Wives

The first time that Bruce Wayne buries a child—and isn’t it a twisted thing, to have to say ‘the first time’ when talking about burying your children six feet under—something in him breaks a little more than usual.

It is not the first time he has almost lost a child, there have been far too many close calls and almost too late’s with Dick.

(In fact, the reason Bruce had fired Dick at all was because of the Two-Face incident and the near-miss with the Joker.

It’s a terrifying thing, to know that your child was beaten almost to death, that you almost didn’t get to see them again.

These two events are probably the most scared Bruce has ever been in almost two decades. Far too close to losing his child to be level-headed and so sure that he is making the right decision. He does everything in his power to prevent his nightmare coming to life.

Then, of course, it becomes a reality, and Bruce can not find it within himself to regret firing Dick, no matter their relationship now, because at least it had gotten him out of danger for a little while. Until Dick—bright, shining, _determined_ —Dick had decided to become something else instead.)

But it is the first time that it has become a reality instead of something that just lurks on the edges of his mind, his worst fear.

It is one thing to imagine every worst-case scenario and to have to see those events while under whatever version of Fear Gas Scarecrow has cooked up this time, and it is quite another one to actually have to live with it. To have to wake up every day knowing that this _is real._ That there are no tricks, no antidotes.

Bruce Wayne’s son is dead, and there is no reality where he is okay.

* * *

There is something not quite right inside of him, something’s been fundamentally changed. And if the happiness of raising Dick is the calm before the storm, and the little time he had Jason for is the eye of the hurricane, then this is the aftermath of the hurricane.

This is the horror after the storm has torn through his life.

There has always been a hole in his heart, the exact shape of two bullets and a string of pearls, and now that hole has expanded into the shape of a crowbar and a smile.

Jason in death is the silence of the house, the lack of a little boy eagerly devouring all of the knowledge he can. His absence is felt in the way the library is locked now, the way that Alfred doesn’t make hot chocolate anymore.

It’s like a nightmare he can’t wake up from and Bruce can’t _breathe_.

Sometimes he sees Jason out of the corner of his eye, smiling up at him (he was so small, so little) and Bruce’s heart will skip a beat like the traitor it is even when he knows, logically, that his son is gone and it’s only a trick of the light and the mind.

Bruce is a bundle of sorrow and rage and all of Gotham shakes with the depth of his loss.

* * *

Stephanie Brown was always too much like Jason Todd, too much like the son he lost.

It burned, something ugly in his chest spitting and snapping with sharpened teeth and desperation not to let her _become_ Jason.

She was too much, too loud, too bright, too reckless, too similar, too daring, too loving, too naive and damn it all because it _hurt_ to be around her.

She was too young and inexperienced and Bruce would have preferred it better if she had just gone home and _stayed there_. He tells her to stop being Spoiler, gives her a test and uses her failure as an excuse to fire her and get her to get rid of Spoiler.

She doesn’t, predictably, she’s in too deep now, too invested in helping that she doesn’t stop and _think_.

But Bruce doesn’t do well alone, (not anymore) and when Tim retires Robin and Steph offers to take on the mantle Bruce gives in, because he is weak and she reminds him so much of Jason, (and he desperately wants Tim to come back, to see someone else as Robin and realize he still wants to be Robin, to be Bruce’s partner), every infuriating part of her that makes him want to both pull his hair out and keep her safe.

He’s compromised in this, he knows, so he steadily ignores everything his heart tells him and sticks with cold hard logic, he trains her and runs her ragged to ensure she’ll be safe and he keeps his distance, because if he grows attached to her, then there will be no being objective.

Not when he looks at her and sees someone else every time, wishes it were someone else standing beside him.

He fires her and tells her to never be Spoiler but she doesn’t _listen_.

Stephanie Brown starts a city-wide gang war and she doesn’t survive it.

Her final question worms it’s way into his head and buries itself there, insistent and small and terrifying.

_“Was I really Robin._ ”

Bruce says _yes_.

(Bruce _lies,_ he swallows tar and acid and forces the words out because the dying girl needs to hear them.

Bruce Wayne has never once claimed that he was a good, unbiased person.

Stephanie Brown had been able to attest to that. She had known, deep in her heart, that Bruce Wayne would never be able to look at her and see _her_ , a teenager trying her hardest, a _person_ doing her best, no one and nothing else, just her. Because Bruce Wayne is made up of many things, and none of them include being able to move on.)

(Between protecting Gotham and—)

* * *

The fact that Jason Todd somehow comes back to life does nothing to lessen the blow.

For all that Bruce wants desperately for his son to come back to him, he knows that the Jason who came back is not the same as the one who was stolen from him.

His child comes back so angry and so hurt and it makes something in Bruce’s chest ache. He would rather be stabbed a hundred times over than to have Jay suffer as he is now, so confused and angry and hurting.

(God he’s so _big_ now, Jay had always been the shortest of his children, so small, and now he’s almost Bruce’s height

There is so much that is wrong with it all. And for all that he thanks every deity he knows of that Jason was returned to him, he can’t help the disconnect, the otherness of knowing how much has changed in that time.)

Bruce can admit, even if only to himself, that he does not react the best upon Jay’s initial return, or in the events that follow after. But Bruce can’t match the smart little boy who had a heart too big for his own good with this callous murderer.

Still, he can’t help the desperate need that bubbles up within him to just wrap his child up in a hug and hold him close, to tell him to come home, that everything will be alright. That he missed and mourned Jay for so long that nothing else matters.

But no matter how much he wants to, Bruce is still Batman, and Batman must protect Gotham, even if it’s from his own son.

He locks up the parts of his heart that beg for him to ignore it all and to just talk to Jay, talk some sense into him, to just hide him away where no one can find him or hurt him again, where Bruce can _help_ him.

(It is a very large part.

It is very hard to stay objective when your son is blaming you for not getting there in time to save him, especially when you know he’s right. It is even harder to hear that your son is going against all of your beliefs because he wants to get back at you, to force you to go against everything you have to hold sacred. Because a man without rules is one without anything and Bruce can not allow himself to cross that very thin line.)

Gotham needs Batman.

(Jason needs Bruce.

Bruce needs to fix things, needs his _children_.)

He feels like he’s being drained, as if all the bright lights have gone out in the world and he is fumbling blind in the dark, just trying to do the right thing.

(Between protecting Gotham and protecting his children—)

Bruce shuts his eyes for a few seconds, and prays that he’s making the right decision.

* * *

The first time he buries his eldest son, he is the only one who knows that Dick Grayson is still alive.

He stands at a funeral for a still-breathing man, (and the moments between Dick's heart stopping and then getting the adrenaline shot will haunt him forever, the numbing, horrifying silence where a heart should be beating,) and ignores the way that the nightmares have started to pick up again, the ones he had right after Jason’s death, the ones he still has to this day because there is a part of him that sometimes thinks that his son never made it out of that grave and those are the days that are the hardest to function.

He sent his son away out of fear, and that fear might be the reason Dick never comes home.

Bruce tries to remain objective, to ignore the screaming of his heart and focus on the most logical decisions.

(The problem, of course, is that Bruce Wayne has always been compromised when his children are involved, and while he can ignore the screaming in his heart, his mind takes things to the opposite level of extremes.

Bruce Wayne does not account for his bout of amnesia, he does not account for extractions or losing his son.

What he _does_ account for is the anguished pleading in his gut and his chest to keep Dick close to him, to keep him home.)

So the world mourns for Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne agonizes over every decision he makes and prays to whatever God is out there that he’s made the right choices.

(When given the choice between protecting Gotham and protecting his children, Bruce—)

* * *

Stephanie is a tidal wave, loud and vicious and strong. She comes back with a crash and she stands tall against them all. She’s stiff with them all, even as she smiles and laughs.

(The hurt never really goes away for any of them, it just fades to a background ache.)

She knows, everyone knows, that she was an outlier, something strange, something that Bruce will never think of fondly, will always regret for the wrong reasons.

Bruce is sorry for that, but there is no way to tell her this, to describe his thoughts to her without hurting her more. And Bruce is many, _many_ things, but he likes to believe he is not unnecessarily cruel without reason.

Stephanie is alive and Bruce doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to forgive her for worming her way inside of his heart and soul.

(Batman has always been weak to children.

Bruce Wayne shares this flaw.)

The air between any of them and Stephanie is tense and full of tension and things both said and unsaid and Bruce doesn’t really know what to say to make it better so he opts for the safe option.

He asks her to help Tim grow stronger, better.

By this point, Bruce has accepted that he’ll never quite know what to do with the whirlwind that is Stephanie Brown.

* * *

Bruce loses his youngest, barely into teenage years and taken from him—and for all he still has yet to get to know him, to accept how his son came to be, doesn’t quite know how to connect with him ~~yet~~ (no, not yet, there is no more yet because he’s _gone_ )—and Bruce refuses it. He buries him and then throws himself into finding somehow, some _way_ to bring his child back.

Children should not die before their parents and Bruce refuses to lose Damian for good.

He doesn’t tell the press, refuses to let anyone say anything, and he buries himself in research. He digs and digs and searches until it’s the only thing he can think about and he is so far gone, so emotionally compromised but _Jason came back_ and if it happened once logic concludes it could happen again Bruce just needs to find out _how_. He barely talks to anyone and he knows he’s neglecting the others, but if there’s any way to bring the child he still needs to get to know back then he has to find it.

(There is no world where Bruce forgives Talia for killing their son.)

At some point he finds himself standing in the middle of a destroyed room, limbs trembling and heart racing.

He holds his breath, rides the panic out and soldiers on.

Alfred watches him with the same sadness and worry as he did decades ago, when the only holes in Bruce’s heart were the size of two bullets and a string of pearls. When the grief turned him brooding and angry and lost, when the need to keep Gotham safe made him determined.

It took years to perfect being Batman.

He can’t afford years to bring his son back.

Bruce Wayne takes his swiss-cheese heart and protesting, weary body, and he searches for the missing body of the child he never asked for but wants so desperately to do right by.

(Defeating the League is easy when he sees Damian’s limp body.

The rage burning in his chest is only natural when his son slips through his fingers again. Stolen away once more.)

Bruce bursts onto Apokolips with all the determination of a father and all the anger and grief that comes with it. He tears his way through it all with the single-minded drive that drove him to train and learn and work himself to the ground to become Batman.

He almost weeps when the choice is presented to him.

But he has long since mourned his parents, and for all he misses them, for all that he will always carry hole’s in his heart in the shape of a string of pearls and two bullets, he chooses his son.

(Because when made to choose between his children and his parents, he is a selfish, selfish man.

Damian is not yet done growing.

He thinks they would understand, he thinks that they would agree with his decision.)

He brings Damian back and it’s the first time he can breathe without the heavy feeling clogging his throat.

There is so much he needs to say.

Instead, he waits until everything calms down, waits until everything is taken care of. And when he hears the tell-tale signs of a nightmare coming from Damian’s room he slips in and does the only thing he can. He holds Damian during the nightmare, the boy is half asleep and terrified and Bruce hugs him to his chest and half cradled on his lap, because even at 13 Damian is still small enough that it isn’t too difficult yet.

And Bruce runs his fingers soothingly through black hair and whispers softly to his child, “Shh, sweetheart, I’m here, you’re here, you’re alive, I’m with you darling. Right here.”

Damian fights his heavy eyelids and forces his eyes half-open, pupils dilated in fear and shaking, begging with his mama still even as he tenses for another fight.

And Bruce shushes him again, tightens his grip and holds Damian’s head gently, pressing it against his shoulder reassuringly.

“Just me sweetheart, just me.”

And Damian shudders, letting out a choked cry that Bruce knows the child would be ashamed of at any other time.

As it is Bruce only hums quietly, and presses his lips against Damian’s temple.

He whispers reassurances until the shaking stops and Damian drifts off to sleep, exhausted.

Something inside of him shudders and he tucks Damian in and slips out of the room quickly. He takes a shuddering breath and refuses to think about all the almosts, refuses to think about how many times he almost didn’t get Damian back.

(Given the choice between Gotham and his children, Bruce will always, _always—)_

* * *

The second time he buries his eldest son, there is no actual burying, there is no official funeral, no death certificate, and no autopsy, because Richard Grayson is still very much alive.

It’s Dick Grayson that’s dead.

There is no official cause of death because the body of his son is still walking, still breathing.

The second time he buries his eldest is entirely alone, and entirely within his own head.

He mourns a man who no longer exists, even as the hospital tells him his son is lucky to have survived.

(Dick Grayson does not survive, a new man is born out of his death, that is all this is. And Bruce thinks he breaks a little bit more every time he tries to find any trace of his son within this stranger and fails.)

Bruce feels like he’s lost a limb, like he's lost something vital and adjusting to it never seems to get easier.

He forgets sometimes, almost asks Nightwing for help with something before realizing that Nightwing _isn’t there_ , that Dick is lost to him now, and it feels like Bruce’s nightmare come to life once more.

Bruce has never handled having people leave him well.

(Maybe he had once upon a time, maybe in a different life, a different universe, but not here. Here he holds his children close to him even as he tries to make the right decisions and it’s so hard.

There is no guide on how to protect the innocent people of your city and your family at the same time.

All Bruce Wayne has to help him are gut feelings, half-remembered actions from parents long dead, lessons learned from the closest thing he has to a father left, and past mistakes and regrets that bury themselves deep under his skin and refuse to let him be absolved from.)

He tells his other children and their friends and the Justice League and anyone connected with who Richard Grayson used to be and who Nightwing was, to leave Ric alone, to walk away and stop contacting to let him live a normal life.

As if Bruce doesn’t want to shout and order Dick to remember, coax him out of his own head with promises of late-night patrols and flying and everything he could possibly want.

But Ric has made his stance clear and for all that Bruce’s heart shatters, it’s illogical to continue down this path with someone who so clearly doesn’t need him anymore.

(But God if it doesn’t hurt.)

* * *

Given the choice between Gotham and his children, Bruce will always, _always_ choose or create the option that saves them both, and if that option is to his detriment.

Well.

Parents should always die before their children.

(never, ever, the other way around)

Bruce releases the parts of his heart he locked up so long ago, because asking himself to choose between heartless logic and his gut was always a mistake when his children were involved.

* * *

Stephanie punches the bag as hard as she can, and Bruce watches as she attacks it again and again, sloppy, undisciplined.

Upset.

She grits her teeth and screams in frustration.

She whips around, fury blazing in her eyes and voice raised, "I know you're there Bruce! I can feel your stalker eyes watching me, asshole!"

Bruce steps out of the shadow and hums, raising an eyebrow. Stephanie is flushed with either anger or embarrassment, eyes narrowed and breathing hard.

"It _is_ my cave you know."

Stephanie hisses, and spins to face the punching bag again, "Doesn't mean you aren't being stalkery again."

Bruce huffs, lips pursed, "You shouldn't be up still."

She doesn't look at him, just throws another sloppy, exhausted punch at the bag and grunts, "Well, it's a good thing that you are _not_ my tortured, long-suffering _keeper_ , Bruce."

He watches her calmly, "You're right."

She screams, voice raspy and anguished and turns to face him again, "Then stop pretending to _care_ Bruce. You aren't responsible for me or my fuckups okay. I know that, I know I'm messed up in a million different ways that I fucked up so much so _stop it, please."_

Bruce stays silent, and Stephanie's eyes are wet and furious, her voice choked.

Bruce studies her, and steps forward, grabbing her hands. The wraps were half-heartedly done and her hands will be tender if the skin on her knuckles isn’t already split. This hadn’t been training, it had been venting. But that had been obvious when he came down to the cave at three in the morning and found her.

There are bags under her eyes and she looks a little like death warmed over.

He hums, “You were never a fuck up Stephanie.”

She glares at him, disbelieving, and Bruce has never done anything to show that he thinks it’s true, so he understands a little bit.

Bruce sighs, “You were always the most similar to Jason. And it” He takes a shuddering breath, and Stephanie watches him with guarded eyes, “It hurt to be around you, sometimes.”

He shifts, uncomfortable, and Stephanie just stares at him, shaking—trembling—with some pent up emotion.

She sniffs, "I kind of want to punch you, I hope you know that, you asshole. You _lied_ to me. And it was what I needed then but I _knew_ you were lying to me."

She laughs, and it's cut with bitterness and tinged with sorrow.

Bruce's heart _aches_.

Her voice breaks, “Do you know what it’s like to _know_ that you aren’t wanted but still be expected to be everything someone needs? It _hurts_ Bruce, god it fucking _destroys_ you and I’m sorry for failing to be what you needed—”

“You were _exactly_ what you needed to be Stephanie, there was nothing wrong with you, not then, and not now.” Bruce cuts her off, voice soft and steady.

She shakes more and Bruce is and always will be a father in any world, and a crying child will always make him weak.

He hugs her tight, and whispers reassurances to her, “You’re all you needed to be Stephanie, there is not a single thing wrong with you. You are so brave and so sweet and it’s okay not to be alright, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

She shakes and he holds her and it feels a little like repairing something that was once broken.

* * *

Bruce holds Jason in his arms and no matter how much hurt and anger lies between them Jason will always be his son, and Bruce will always love him, no matter how much it hurts him.

(After all, even after everything he’s done, Two-Face is still Harvey Dent, and there is a part of Bruce that has never been able to let people go.)

Things are better now, between Bruce and his second son, and there is a part of him, a hole the exact shape of a crowbar and a smile that doesn’t ache quite so much anymore.

They are not fixed, and maybe things will never be better, but it’s been a long, long time, since he got to hug Jason, and from the way Jason’s shoulders are shaking and his head is buried in Bruce’s chest, he doesn’t think he’s the only one who’s desperately missed this.

(Bruce’s eyes are not dry as he presses a kiss against Jason's head and his heart hurts but they stay standing in the cave, wrapped up in a hug, until Alfred bribes them upstairs to the manor with tea.

After that, they spend the day in the library, and maybe tomorrow they will have found something wrong with themselves or each other again and maybe tomorrow the walls will be higher than ever before, but this is now, and right now Bruce gets to enjoy an afternoon with the son who came back to him, even if he isn’t the exact same as he was when he was taken from him.)

Jason smiles, and Bruce notices with a kind of half grief half awe, that his smile is still just as brilliant a sight, even if it’s different from before.

* * *

Dick is sitting in the cave when Bruce comes in from patrol, and Bruce falters.

They stare at each other in silence. And Bruce doesn’t move for fear of breaking this illusion or scaring his eldest away.

Dick bites at his lip and avoids his eyes, swallowing thickly, “Hey B.”

Bruce clears his throat and fights against the frog that’s settled there.

“Dick.”

Dick shifts uncomfortably, and Bruce sees the sheen of tears in his eyes and the stiff way he’s holding himself and fights against the overwhelming urge to wrap him up in his arms.

Dick’s breath hitches and he chokes out, “I’m sorry.”

And Bruce pushes the cowl off and gives in to the greedy thing that wants to hold his son. He surges forward and holds his child in his arms, folds him against his chest and shushes him, “No sweetheart, that isn’t your fault, it’s not your fault. I'm sorry I couldn't help you, so sorry sweetheart."

Dick shakes, voice breaking, "I was so _alone_."

Bruce closed his eyes, "I know chum, I know. I'm sorry."

And Bruce is horrible at emoting, struggles sometimes to let his children know how he feels, but it is easy enough to tell his eldest that its not his fault.

"You don't have to apologize Dickie." Dick laughs wetly _—_ ugly and bloody and filled with regret and self-loathing _—_ and Bruce hums, pressing his lips to the top of Dick's head.

They stay like that for long enough that Bruce's knees begin to ache and his shoulders and arms start to cramp. (God he's getting old)

And he pulls away, and speaks quietly, "Your siblings and friends all missed you."

He pauses, places a kiss against Dick's temple and says, "I missed you, sweetheart."

Dick's breath hitches and he rasps out, "God I'm sorry, I can't believe I acted like that. I can't believe I went by _Ric_ , it's such a stupid fucking name, god it's so dumb, it's so stupid, I was such an asshole as Ric, I was so cruel to _everyone._ I never meant to _—_ I never _wanted_ to _—."_

Bruce holds Dick steady through his rambling, shushes him, "I know baby, I know. It's not your fault. It's not your fault."

Dick inhales sharply and sniffs, pushing away and scrubbing at his eyes.

“I missed you B, I missed you a lot.” He yawns, tired.

Bruce raises an eyebrow, “When was the last time you slept?”

Dick avoids his eyes and shrugs, “A while ago?”

He smiles sheepishly, eyes still red and puffy, and Bruce sighs, “Get some sleep Dickie, you need it.”

Dick tilts his head up and smiles, it’s smaller than usual and they’ll need to have a talk later so Bruce can stop Dick from blaming himself for everything that’s happened since he was shot in the head, but things are okay for now.

Things are good.

* * *

There is a universal truth that states that Bruce Wayne is, and always will be, a father.

Parents should die—will die—before their children.

(Bruce Wayne has known that since he was 8 years old and little, a scrap of a boy with a quiet smile and a soft voice, and holes in his heart the exact size and shape of two bullets and a scattered pearl necklace.)

His children will outlive him.

(Gotham would not be enough to keep him sane otherwise, because Bruce Wayne loves fiercely and furiously and silently.)

**Author's Note:**

> [writing tumblr](https://rose-blooms-red.tumblr.com) and [main tumblr](https://themessofthecentury.tumblr.com)


End file.
